


Five Times Neymar Sees Messi Naked

by stillgold



Category: Football RPF, Real Person Fiction, Sports RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-24 14:07:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8375029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillgold/pseuds/stillgold
Summary: Neymar hasn't really thought of Leo as a 'sexual' being until he sees Leo's dick.





	1. Chapter 1

The first time Neymar sees Messi’s dick, at Messi’s house, he doesn’t leave.

That, really, is the problem. He probably should have knocked on the door, probably should have called out or something, probably should have covered his eyes, probably should have muttered a hasty “Sorry!” and left immediately.

What Ney does, instead, is step inside and close the door behind him.

Messi gapes at him, unable to believe the situation he’s in. Leo’s generally a pretty stoic person—it’s difficult to gauge his expression on any given day, but today, he’s flabbergasted. Well, Ney would notice if he was looking at Messi’s face.

He isn’t, though.

He’s looking at Leo’s cock.

Leo’s hands are covering his genitals, but Ney’s staring so hard, it’s like he has X-ray vision.

Normally, Messi doesn’t find it hard to speak up about an uncomfortable situation, but this is so horrifying that it takes him a good thirty seconds to find his voice.

It comes out high and shrill anyway.

“What are you _doing_?!”

Ney says nothing. He seems transfixed. His eyes have seen all of Leo’s cock in that split second before he covered it with his hands, so his gaze starts to roam. Leo’s still wet from his shower, his hair dripping, his skin pale and glistening. He’s breathing so hard that his abs are tightening and loosening over and over, rapidly, as droplets run over his smooth skin.

Ney takes one slow step forward. He’s in a daze.

Leo is reduced to a babble and begins to back away. “Ney! What the _fuck_?”

If Ney was in his senses, he’d laugh himself brainless for days about this. About the great D10S a babbling, quivering mess. About Messi’s shrill shrieks, his high-pitched fear.

As it is, he feels like he’s in a dream. He’s admired Messi for years and years, been endlessly devoted to him. But he’s never thought of him naked and glistening.

Neymar’s straight.

He’s into girls, dammit.

He can acknowledge his own fuckboy-ness any goddamn day of the week. He’s proud of his reputation with the ladies—he enjoys them and they for _damn sure_ enjoy him.

But this is—he doesn’t know what _this_ is.

But he’s never backed away from something he wanted before, never denied himself someone he wanted.

And he’s finding, if his own dick has any say in the matter, that it’s _Messi_ he wants.

He keeps moving forwards, slowly, dazedly. His dick leads and he follows.

As always.

But at the end of this road is Lionel Messi. Whose hair is damp and dripping, who’s fresh from the shower and whose towel is at the other end of the bedroom. Messi, whose tiny nipples are hardened from the cold, whose skin is covered with goosebumps. Messi, who looks so delicious that Neymar is temporarily weak at the knees.

“Neymar, I’ll fucking _punch_ you! It’s not fucking _funny_!” Messi’s voice has dropped to a more normal decibel now. He seems to think that Ney is playing a prank on him.

But Ney’s past words. All he’s thinking of is that little dip of Leo’s collarbone. He’d love to lick it slowly, his tongue warm against Leo’s cold skin, lick away all the droplets slowly.

So he says nothing, just keeps moving.

Leo’s face is clearing. He seems more and more convinced that it’s a joke. His shoulders are rolling back, his stance is widening, and he raises an eyebrow. “Fine, come and get it.” And he drops his hands, calling Neymar’s bluff.

His face is calm and certain because Leo does all things this way. He’s so sure that he’s right—because Messi is always right—he doesn’t even think of the consequences. Doesn’t consider what being wrong means.

Ten minutes ago, he would have been right.

But Neymar accidentally walking in on his nakedness has set off something neither one of them can really understand.

Neymar doesn’t know what is different. He has seen Leo in various stages of undress—not his naked dick, of course—but he’s seen most of this before either in parts, or whole. But something about seeing it when he was unprepared, seeing Leo completely naked, seeing Leo as a man first and not his teammate—something about it is jarring.

Ney is so close that his jeans are brushing Leo’s naked thighs. Leo’s still acting calm, but Ney suddenly wonders how calm he really is. He doesn’t really care though because he can feel the heat pouring off Messi’s pale skin.

Ney’s lips are burning, in anticipation of touching Messi’s nakedness. He finally meets Leo’s eyes and sees his dark lashes framing his almost-black irises and Ney gets powerfully hard, achingly so. A stray thought crosses his mind that maybe Leo can feel it, but Ney is past caring. He’s in a place of pure sensation.

He feels like he’s being touched everywhere and he hasn’t touched Messi yet.

Neymar can see in Leo’s eyes that he’s starting to realise this is no joke. But Messi doesn’t give up.

“You gonna blow me now?” he says too loudly, his voice more confident than his expression, more scornful.

But Ney knows Leo knows because he’s backed up into a wall. His feet have betrayed him. Neymar doesn’t want to say anything because he knows what he wants to do and words seem like a waste of time.

So what Ney does is slowly lean his weight into Messi’s, pressing him firmly against the wall. Ney can feel that Leo is half-hard and he feels it as if it is a fire branding him.

Leo swallows hard. The pretense is effectively over, but Leo’s reality is so frightening to him that he goes on pretending. His voice rises again. “Ney, I will fucking _punch_ you. Get _off_ me.”

But he doesn’t push Ney. Neymar is so skinny, Leo could easily get the better of him. Instead he allows Ney to press against him and he looks even more astonished that he’s letting it happen.

So Ney refocuses on Leo’s collarbone. It is still damp and there is that droplet of water. He really wants to taste it.

So he does.

He registers that Leo gasps, but it is not a gasp, not really. Both of them feel the sharp intake of air, but there is no sound, only an action in a vacuum.

But Ney’s mouth doesn’t move from that delicious dip, just leisurely samples Leo’s skin as if it his for the taking. How long Ney’s tongue lingers on Leo’s slowly-warming skin, he doesn’t know, but it feels like an eternity—or a second.

Neymar notes that Leo is still, astonishingly so. The shock of how good it is is probably what keeps Messi’s dazzlingly quick feet still. His hands are clenched at his side, his whole body is tight, every muscle straining, but going nowhere.

Neymar has never been a thinker. So he doesn’t waste time analyzing the situation, preferring to feel and taste and see. His mouth is busy, slowly sampling Messi’s smooth, pale skin. When he gently nips at the place where Leo’s shoulder becomes his neck, Leo visibly shudders and that interests Ney.

He wants more of that reaction.

So he investigates that crease, nudging Leo’s head back. Leo resists slightly, his muscles straining even harder, but it lasts for only a tense, fraught second and then his head falls back a little. But even so, Leo is still taut, still tight. He can’t shut off his brain.

Ney has no such problem. His mission is to make Leo shudder again and he finds that Leo’s neck is sensitive. He lets his lips drift, just rubbing, not yet sucking. The gentle caress works in a way that Ney’s tongue wouldn’t and Leo grits his teeth, turning his head a little.

Neymar likes that, likes watching Leo’s jaw harden in reaction to his own resisted pleasure. So he licks at Messi’s neck, sucks the skin gently. The room is deathly silent except for the sounds of Ney’s kissing and it is oddly erotic, filling the room. Ney closes his eyes just for one delicious moment so his mouth is filled with Leo’s taste, his ears with Leo’s sighs—so his world is all Leo, just for one moment.

When he opens his eyes, he sees Leo’s hand moving slowly in the air toward Neymar’s head. Neymar briefly wonders if Leo is going to push him away, but Leo’s pale fingers only slide into his scalp, neither pressing nor pulling. They are passive, simply trembling on Neymar’s short curls, making slow caressing movements.

Neymar doesn’t allow this, doesn’t allow people to touch his hair, but it feels like a boundary has shifted and it feels like he’s allowing Leo to touch him intimately, privately, almost as if Leo’s fingers are on his aching crotch. He makes a soft sigh into Leo’s neck—and then, almost immediately, he bites at Leo’s pale skin.

Leo tenses at the sudden pain and his fingers tighten briefly on Neymar’s skull, but he doesn’t push him away. He relaxes by slow degrees as Neymar slowly soothes the bitten area with his tongue, kissing it with soft gentle brushes of his lips.

Unable to resist, Neymar grinds his hips into Leo’s. Just a small, tiny circle. It’s barely even noticeable. He feels Leo catching his breath, but Ney is lost in his own world and Leo almost isn’t real—and he’s also too real.

Ney is overwhelmed with this Leo, this Leo that he’s never seen before. This Leo who is making him feel like he’s drugged, like he’s out of his mind. As he nuzzles into Leo’s neck, he grinds a little more, a little harder, a little more obviously.

Leo says nothing, just tightens his jaw again. Neymar brushes his lips against his stubble, fascinated by Leo’s silence, by his body language. He wonders if he can make Leo moan, if he can make Leo burn, if he can make Leo scream. He wonders why Leo doesn’t push him away.

Neymar keeps grinding and it is so good, so good. He can feel how hard Leo is against his thigh so he rubs against Leo’s cock, feels it jump and pulse against his thigh and his head swims. He bites Leo’s ear a little too hard and Leo’s hand tightens too painfully on Neymar’s hair. Neymar eases, just a little.

But he is lost. He feels alive, his whole body thrumming with pleasure and feeling and sensation. He is buzzing, he is lost, he is burning up; it is too much and not enough. He keeps rubbing faster and faster against Leo, until he is essentially bucking against Leo.

Still, Leo is only passive. Other than his jaw, his shuddering breaths and his sighs, he gives no sign of pleasure. But Neymar doesn’t care. Leo’s control is incredibly hot. It makes Neymar think of Leo writhing wantonly under Neymar’s mouth—and Neymar wants that so much, his mouth waters.

He thinks of Leo, arching his head up, of sweat dripping from his brow, of his face drawn in pleasure, of his whole body one tense, beautiful pale line of orgasm and Ney wants it now. So he grinds faster, harder against Leo. He knows Leo is getting close because his breaths are getting shorter and shallower, because his jaw is loosening, because his eyes are half-shut.

Neymar is so close, but he wants Leo to come before he comes and so he keeps grinding. And when he finally _finally_ licks at Leo’s throat again, Leo makes an audible gasp and comes. Neymar only knows because of the sound, only knows because of that one long surprised breath.

And he comes too, his cock pulsing and pulsing like it is his first orgasm—and it is. Because it is undoing every other orgasm. It is as if he’s never come before, as if he’s a virgin and Leo is his first.

When he leans against Leo, boneless, he feels something swoop deep in his belly. He doesn’t know whether it’s embarrassment or tenderness, but when he lifts his head to kiss Leo, Leo’s eyes are closed.

Ney cradles Leo’s face and slowly the latter’s eyes flutter open. His eyes are full of anxiety, full of shock. But Neymar doesn’t register those emotions—he’s too full of post-orgasmic bliss. And when he leans forward to rub their lips together, Leo moves. He turns his head sharply away and it is the sharpest rejection of their moment together.

Neymar freezes. He didn’t expect it to hurt, but it does. It is as if someone has poured icy cold water over his head and he almost can’t believe it happened. Leo’s hand has slipped out of Neymar’s hair and it comes up against Ney’s chest. And—he can’t believe it—he just can’t—but that hand starts to push.

It’s only a slight push, but Neymar stumbles backward. He reels—literally and figuratively. He feels his vision blurring and realizes it’s tears—and, without another word, he turns and leaves the room, shutting the door behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello there! this is soooo late so i apologise, but hey happy new year's!!! i'm also fairly loopy on expired cough syrup at the moment so um... be warned?

The second time Neymar sees Leo’s dick, he doesn’t. He tastes it.

The whole thing happens a couple of months after the first time, one of the most humiliating moments Ney has ever really experienced with anyone—let alone his own teammate and the person he most admires as a footballer. Initially, Ney frets that they won’t be able to get past it, but Leo surprises him. His capacity for disassembling is astounding. Frankly, if the images of Leo coming against his jeans weren’t burned into his memory, Ney would seriously dismiss it as a vivid hallucination.

Leo makes it easy for Ney. He is so casual, so relaxed the next day and the days after, that Ney is taken aback. Within a week, they are cautiously joking with each other, not quite making eye contact. The real credit goes to Luis, however, who, in his own bumbling way, is their savior—he bridges the discomfort and makes it easy for them to go on being friends, go on winning in classic swashbuckling MSN style.

When Suarez isn’t around—which happens very rarely—Ney finds the tension comes back. So he pretends to be glued to his phone or he learns to make a hasty exits. Soon, however, even those awkward moments fade away; after a month or so, Ney actually stops thinking about it more than once a day and, when he does, it always surprises him.

He still flushes bright red when he remembers the way Leo rejected his kiss, but Ney’s never been a brooder. He’s a naturally sunny, optimistic, resilient person and he bounces back. If, at training, he tackles Leo a little too hard and then apologises by touching him a little too long, no one notices. And even if Messi does, he says nothing. Maybe he knows he deserves it.

He almost forgets and it makes him complacent. He forgets to protect himself, forgets to maintain a distance with Leo. He forgets that mistakes are just one aroused dick away. So one night when they’re forced to take a bus home instead of their usual plane because of inclement weather, Neymar forgets to sit far away from Leo.

It starts accidentally. Grumbling, they all climb into the bus, with Leo and Pique predictably taking seats at the back. Ney joins them, sitting next to Leo because Pique is massive and a serial manspreader. Initially, there is a lot of laughter and singing before, slowly, the voices quieten as, one by one, they fall asleep. The curtains have been drawn and when Andres asks the lights to be dimmed, Neymar starts feeling sleepy.

He looks outside at the street lamps through a little slit in the curtains, the flickering lights making him even more drowsy. Leo dozes peacefully next to him, his ability to fall asleep anywhere always something that Ney marvels at. Yawning, Ney reaches up to scratch an itch on his forehead, dropping his head down.

And that’s when it happens.

The angle at which his head is turned means that his gaze is on Leo’s lap—and suddenly he can see Leo’s dick through the denim. He feels himself swallowing, wide awake now and feeling the beginnings of arousal. He should sit somewhere else, move away now.

But as he looks around, presumably to find a new seat, he finds the whole bus is still and quiet. Everyone is asleep. Pique, the only one sitting in their row, has pulled his hood up, turned fully away from them and is snoring quietly.

And Neymar finds himself turning back to Leo, his throat dry, his heart pounding.

He can’t do this here. Leo is asleep—and he’s such a light sleeper. It’s inappropriate. Pique could wake up at any second. He shouldn’t, he _shouldn’t._

But he finds himself staring at Leo. He is leaning against the window, the curtain fluttering with his breath as he sleeps, his arms crossed over his chest. His blond-tipped hair is flopping over his forehead, his beard making a light scratchy sound as it rubs against the curtains over the windows.

And Neymar wants him so much, it’s like an ache he can feel physically—buried in his chest, burning him as if he’ll die if he doesn’t touch Messi right now, _right this very second_.

Ney reaches over the armrest and, hating himself, knowing that Leo’s going to wake up, knowing that he’s going to reject him, Ney places a hand very lightly over Leo’s thigh. It’s almost anticlimactic—he almost expected sirens to go off, almost expected Leo to scream bloody murder, for him to punch him hard. But there is nothing; Leo doesn’t even stir, just continues to sleep.

Ney knows what he’s doing is wrong. It’s inappropriate. Leo is sleeping. He shouldn’t, he mustn’t. Guilt swamps him and he’s almost about to lift his hand when Leo’s thighs spread, just a millimeter or so.

Neymar freezes, staring hard at Leo. His expression hasn’t changed—his eyes are still closed and he is still breathing rhythmically, apparently still asleep. But Ney _had_ seen his thigh just move, right? Had he hallucinated it?

He isn’t sure, but Leo’s usually such a light sleeper. The problem is that if Neymar isn’t right, this is not just inappropriate, it’s _wrong_. So, reluctantly, his conscience screaming in encouragement, Ney lifts his hand, his fingers hovering over Leo’s thigh regretfully. And then, as Ney watches in amazement, Leo’s thighs spread again, this time definitely, obviously.

Ney lifts his head to look at Leo and now it’s unmistakeable—Leo’s breathing has changed just a little. It’s no longer as rhythmic, no longer as deep; it’s shallower and faster. And Neymar is sure about this—because he’d been staring at the area for so long—Leo’s dick has grown in his pants.

Neymar’s own breathing quickens, his cock so hard in his pants that it’s throbbing slowly, painfully. So he drops his hand, which was still hovering over Leo’s thigh, and rests it slowly on the denim. Leo responds this time, his muscles jumping under Neymar’s hand.

And Neymar feels an involuntary sound coming out of his mouth, an almost-moan. He wants Leo so much, he can feel his mouth water. His fingers slide gently up the material of Leo’s jeans, inching slowly towards his crotch. Leo’s given up trying to maintain his deep breathing—he’s hauling in rapid breaths, even though his eyes are still closed.

Ney looks down at Leo’s dick and feels a breath hissing out of his mouth in anticipation. His hands are moving slightly faster now and when he closes it around Leo’s cock, it pulses slightly under Ney’s touch and that effectively decides it.

Unable to deny himself anymore, Ney moves without thinking, blindingly fast. He falls to his knees on the floor in front of his seat. He scoots over and it’s a tight constricted space. He can barely move but he somehow manages to squeeze himself between Leo’s thighs.

For one second, he kneels there, looking up at Leo, his hands on Leo’s thighs. Leo is still pretending to be asleep, but his legs are spreading to accommodate Ney comfortably so what does it matter?

 _Does_ it matter?

Ney doesn’t know. He feels doubt rising up in his chest. Should he stop? He looks around just one last time as if an answer will present itself to him magically—before it goes too far, before he can’t save himself anymore. Pique is still snoring, appearing dead to the world. And Ney takes a deep breath, his head spinning, the scent of Leo’s cologne surrounding him.

It’s the cologne that decides it.

It’s powerfully reassuring and also surprisingly arousing. He’s smelled this on Leo for years—and, suddenly, he realizes, he’s never going to be able to smell this without thinking of this moment.

But he’s too impatient now to think much more. So he undoes Leo’s jeans surprisingly quickly, the sides of his fingers brushing Leo’s bulge through his pants. Leo is very _very_ hard and this knowledge makes Neymar almost too eager, his own cock dripping and hard in his jeans.

His fingers are clumsy, but he can’t wait. And the longer it takes for Ney, the more aroused he becomes, until he’s bucking in the air helplessly, desperate for relief. His knees are already screaming and he knows his jaw will too soon, but he doesn’t care because he’s dying to taste Leo, dying to have him in his mouth.

He’s never done this before, has no idea what a penis tastes like, but he knows he wants it. His heart pounding, he looks up through his lashes at Leo, taking in a deep breath as he slips his fingers inside Messi’s underwear and his fingers encounter very warm, very soft throbbing skin. He feels his head spin as Leo’s cock jumps in his fingers a little, as Leo’s eyes flitter away, not meeting Neymar’s gaze.

Leo’s breathing is rapid, but his expression is calm, almost placid. If Neymar wasn’t between Leo’s legs, if he wasn’t caressing Leo’s dick in his own fingers, he almost would have believed that Leo was going to fall asleep again because his face is so relaxed, so untroubled.

Something squeezes inside Ney’s stomach, something dark and uncomfortable. It feels like that moment right after you stepped in dog poop—that instant of knowing something shitty had happened and knowing it was irreparable.

For one moment, one horrible moment, Ney wants to get up. He wants to walk to the front of the bus, wants to just leave, to walk away from the bus and never look back. He wants to never see Leo again, never have to live through this moment again.

But there is also another embarrassing realization as he kneels there in the uncomfortable, dark cramped spot, Leo’s dick under his fingers, warm and hard—the realization that Neymar isn’t going to leave. That, even though he knows what’s going to happen, that even though the dog poop is already smeared all over his brand new shoes, Neymar’s going to do this.

It bring sudden tears to his eyes, even as his mouth waters. But the emotion is brief and short-lived; Leo is too real before him for it to persist and it dies as soon as it comes. Clumsily, he pulls out Leo’s cock and, despite himself, Ney moans in longing. He doesn’t notice that Leo’s cheeks redden at this, at this blatant hunger, at Neymar’s naked appetite for Leo.

Ney doesn’t wait—he doesn’t start slow; he can’t. He dives in. Before he can even think, before he can process thoughts, he registers that Leo’s dick is in his mouth, that his lips are sliding over it, that it is in his mouth, warm and hard and pulsing.

Ney registers that this is weird—weird and uncomfortable and painful. His knees are hurting so much that he can’t shut the feeling out anymore, his back is starting to ache, and he’s got a _man’s genitals in his mouth_.

He can’t control his saliva and he’s drooling all over Leo’s dick—he wonders how unsexy it is and he peeks up at Leo, but Leo’s breathing has shallowed and he is, in essence, panting. Leo is biting his lip, his forehead scrunching up a tiny bit.

Neymar watches him, a powerful, heady feeling at Leo’s reaction rushing over him. He feels drunk on this, on Leo’s increasing helplessness at the sensations he’s feeling. Leo is shifting, his hips starting to rise up, unable to control himself, unable to stop himself from bucking up into Neymar’s mouth.

When Neymar accidentally sucks a bit hard, Leo’s breath catches and his head arches back just a tiny bit—and Neymar jerks, so aroused that he almost comes just like that, just from looking at Leo. The sudden moment forces them to look at each other; their eyes meet for the first time and Leo doesn’t look away. His eyes are dark and dilated and he’s flushed and sweating. His lips are parted and he mouths something, almost involuntarily, but Ney doesn’t catch it.

Neymar pops his mouth off Leo’s dick and a loud squelching sound resounds in the bus. Ney’s jaw is aching and he’s panting too and they stare at each other. He hasn’t realized that Leo’s hands are fisted in his hair, that they are squeezing his head.

The moment stretches between them. Ney knows he should go back to Leo’s dick and he _wants_ to, but he also wants something else and he can’t continue without it—he just doesn’t know what. Something is missing and he feels frozen. So he stares at Leo, his knees screaming, his hands on Leo’s thigh, his fingers spasming from tension.

Leo’s still panting, still breathing hard, but his eyes are travelling over Neymar’s face slowly. And then suddenly, his fingers tighten on Neymar’s skull and he starts pulling Ney up by his hair. Ney resists for one second and then scrambles up awkwardly, still on his knees, but straightening, his body rising up to press against Leo’s, feeling Leo’s heart hammer against his own pounding one.

For a second, Ney leans like that, awkward and uncomfortable, perched against Leo’s body, Leo’s other arm wrapping around his skinny chest, almost holding him up. They’re panting against each other’s face, Leo’s breath warm on his lips. Their faces are so close—and it’s too hot, Ney can’t breathe, he can’t think he just can’t—

And then Leo’s neck moves forward, slowly as if he almost can’t believe what he’s doing. When his lips touch Ney’s, Ney’s eyes are still open because he wants to take it all in, because he doesn’t want to miss a thing. But then Leo’s mouth presses harder, warm and firm and dry, and Ney’s eyes fall closed, as he lets out a soft sound.

Leo takes advantage of Ney’s open mouth, his tongue brushing Ney’s lower lip. He kisses Ney thoroughly, slowly, takes full advantage. He moves his mouth slowly over Neymar’s, moving in slow, infinite degrees, as if they have all the time in the world. As if Leo’s dick isn’t out, hard and hot between them, as if they aren’t already both aroused out of their minds.

Instead, he kisses Ney slowly, his teeth nipping on Ney’s lower lip, his beard scratching Ney’s chin pleasantly. He seduces Ney—and Ney learns for the first time what real kissing is, what real, erotic kissing is all about. What open-mouthed kissing is supposed to be. What it’s supposed to do to you.

When Leo finally lifts his head, Ney feels like he’s gone blind. Everything is blurry. He doesn’t understand what happened and he’s also harder than he’s ever been. He needs to come. Leo has to come. That is the only thought in his head.

“Finish,” Leo says huskily, desperately. It’s a plea; Leo is begging.

Neymar presses a hand against Leo’s chest, feeling his heart pound against his palm. He is aroused again and determined now. Leo hesitates for a moment then releases him and Ney sinks down, wanting Leo’s dick, wanting this, wanting wanting wanting.

When he’s settled between Leo’s thighs again, he bends over Leo’s cock—and this time, he can’t feel his knees or his jaw. He feels unselfconscious; the world is just dark and sensation and Leo’s cock. And his mouth moves over Leo quickly now, his tongue and lips and teeth moving together, bobbing, sucking and licking obscenely, the sounds filling the bus.

Neither of them care about being caught now. Now Leo is openly moaning, his voice husky and soft. He is bucking into Neymar’s wet, warm mouth—not bothering to be gentle. Ney is using his hands and his mouth and he’s moving and moving and moving. He’s licking and sucking and his hands are dragging the skin on Leo’s cock up and down, up and down, faster and faster and faster.

When Leo comes, he doesn’t make a sound, just bucks up, just pulls Ney’s hair so hard that it makes tears spring into his eyes, that it makes him come in his pants. Ney swallows greedily, his vision blurry, his chest screaming for air. He licks and licks, swallowing every drop, until Leo is soft and pulsing feebly into his mouth.

Only then Ney leans back, his neck bent, his jaw aching, his body hurting in places he didn’t expect. He kneels there for a second longer, his hands on Leo’s thighs, not looking at Leo. There is an infinite, endless moment as Ney remains like that, until he finally summons the will to get up.

His knees almost give out underneath him as he gets to his feet, but already that cold sensation is sinking through him. He refuses to meet Leo’s eyes, refuses to even look, just scrambles out into the aisle, his knees shaking. He stumbles forward a few rows and plops down in an empty seat, feeling empty and heavy.

He’s chattering now, ice-cold and feeling like he can’t breathe. He stuffs a knuckle into his mouth and bites down, trying to ignore the wetness in his pants.

Later, he’s only glad that he doesn’t cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> err... i know it seems like sad endings all the time, but we're getting somewhere hopefully. let me know what you think! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not too happy with this chapter, frankly speaking, but ah well. enjoy!

The third time Neymar sees Messi’s dick, he fucks it.

The thing is, Neymar _expects—_ even anticipates—the fallout from the bus blowjob to be intense, expects his relationship with Messi to be tested. Surely putting another man’s genitals in your mouth will stress any friendship to its limits? The only thing keeping the panic at bay is the realization that they got over the last time with relative ease—sure, it was hard the next day, but then things calmed down.

So he’s very surprised that it doesn’t get better. Not for Neymar. Leo, on the other hand, seems perfectly fine. Except for a week in which he intensely avoids eye contact with Neymar, Leo returns to his usual imperturbable self before a full fortnight is over. Ney, conversely, manages to get progressively more upset as days pass by.

He can’t understand it. It wasn’t this bad the last time. But somehow, a line has been crossed that night, that night when Leo kissed him, when he made Leo come in his mouth. Something in his heart won’t go back, no matter how much he scolds himself, no matter how many tears he sheds.

And he sheds many tears.

Self-flagellation isn’t his thing, though, so he tries faking it. But he’s never had to laugh like this when his heart has ached quite so bad before. It even affects their on-pitch chemistry. Neymar can’t score, he keeps giving the ball away, and slowly the whispers blow into full-on articles asking “What’s wrong with Neymar?” He clenches his fists when he sees the headlines, browses through his mentions on Twitter, reads the comments under his Instagram pictures.

Every day where Leo seems fine is a day where Neymar gets even worse. One day, he blows up at Rafinha during training because Rafa is the only one he can let off on—the only one he can trust in that way. Rafinha is just as angry, but his eyes are puzzled all the same.

_Who are you_? his eyes ask.

And Neymar doesn’t know. Who is he? He’s deeply disturbed by himself. How could he suddenly be so attracted to another man? How could he want him to notice Neymar like this? Is it just a simple matter of a hurt ego? Is it just because he’s rejected?

Or is he gay? Bisexual?

He probes his feelings, but he doesn’t know what to do. Of course, he’s noticed attractive guys before—he’s even had stray thoughts about men before, but it’s never been like this. The only time he can remember feeling intensely about a man was a friend in high school. Neymar had been desperately jealous of his friend’s girlfriend. He’d chalked it up, at the time, of simple jealousy, but now he wonders.

Leo’s opened a can of worms. The thoughts drive him mad.

So when Neymar hears that Luis has come down with the stomach flu, cutting him out of the squad to Celtic, effectively meaning that Ney has to share a room with Leo, Ney is shocked to find himself strangely calm.

So he has to share a room with Leo. Big whoop. It’s no big deal, right?

Right. So Ney acts like he doesn’t care—and maybe he’s a little over exuberant on the flight and the bus ride there. Maybe Leo’s eyes catch his once or twice, imperturbable. Maybe Rafa looks at him quizzically and asks quietly if he’s okay. Maybe Mats laughs gently with him, pats his shoulder and tells him not to worry, they’re going to win, confusing Neymar’s jitteriness with nerves.

The night they get there, Neymar is so wound up with fear and the late training that he expects to fall in bed almost immediately. He’s almost looking forward to it—it’ll be a relief from the awkwardness with Messi. He wonders why Leo didn’t request a different room, why Neymar didn’t either. Maybe Leo is truly unbothered by it.

For Neymar, being around Messi like heaven and hell. He knows it’s unbelievable temptation, that it isn’t going anywhere, that he’ll be sad after, but he still wants to be there. He dawdles before going up, though, spending some time in Rafa and Mats’ hotel room, laughing and teasing them about what their night’s going to be like.

He’s always his most exuberant self when he’s anxious and now he’s effusive, effervescent, full of life and joy, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he laughs and laughs. Finally, he hugs Rafa and leaves the room, making his way upstairs, the smile sliding off his face like water.

When he enters the room, Leo is standing by his suitcase, brushing his hair. He smiles at Ney, but says nothing more. When he’s done, he offers to wait for Neymar, but Ney waves his hand. So Leo leaves, going down to the locker room to change before their evening practice.

By the time they trudge back up from the locker room, pleasantly achy after the light training, Neymar offers the bathroom to Leo first. He knows Leo likes showering twice after a training, the first time a simple washing down in the locker room, and the second time a lengthy shower in the room.

Leo picks out black boxer shorts and a t-shirt from his suitcase, turning and shedding his shirt in one smooth motion. He seems unconcerned with Neymar and doesn’t notice the latter suddenly freezing in bed, eyes taking in Leo’s pale skin.

Leo moves lightly into the bathroom and closes the door behind him. Ney lies like that for a while, genuinely so tense he can’t breathe. He moans softly, turning around in bed, clenching his fist into his sheets. He’s hard, so hard he’s throbbing in his pants and, deeply frustrated with himself, he bites the edge of his pillow, willing himself to settle down.

But lying on his front puts pressure on his dick, a welcome and torturous pressure, so Neymar finds himself bucking slightly, seeking that not-enough pressure. He’s panting slightly, mind filled with Leo. He can see that pale skin, can remember the way Leo’s hand slipped into his hair as he came against Neymar’s jeans, can remember the soft sound from Leo’s mouth as he came into Ney’s mouth.

He’s gasping now, trying not to give in, but he can sense he’s past the point now. He’s drifting into a haze, one of lust and chaos. He clenches his fist against the bed, groaning a little and forces himself to stop bucking. He needs to relax, he needs—

And then he hears the shower turning off.

He imagines Leo, wet and dripping from the shower, stepping out, muscles rippling lightly as he moves with that infinite grace, slipping a robe around his shoulders.

And that effectively snaps the rest of Neymar’s control.

Before he can really process what he’s doing, he’s turning back around on the bed, scrabbling at his belt buckle. His fingers are shaking and clumsy—because he doesn’t know what he’s doing and because he _does_.

When the jeans finally come off, he kicks them off the bed, where they fall with a loud _thwap_ on the ground. He breathes in and out, wondering if he can stop and knowing he can’t, before he slips his thumbs into his underwear. He squeezes his eyes shut long and hard and then slides the garment down his thighs, hitching his pelvis to accommodate himself.

When he tosses it onto the jeans, his face is so screwed up, it’s almost like he’s crying. _What is he doing what is he doing_.

And then, slowly, knowing full well that he’s lost his mind, knowing that this might be the line in the sand for Leo, Ney turns on his stomach. Then, dragging his right knee forward up to his stomach, he lays there for a second panting, summoning the courage, then dragging his left knee up too.

He hears fumbling in the bathroom and knows he has only a minute or so before Leo will come out. Panting, eyes burning, his heart pounding and his dick pulsing, he pushes himself up to a kneeling position.

He wonders later if that should have been enough—if placing himself in this humiliating position should have brought him to his senses. After all, he has plenty of time to cover himself up with a robe or a blanket before Leo actually emerges.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he waits.

It feels like an eternity and, despite himself, despite the madness, despite the haze, thoughts creep in. Is he out of his mind? Should he back out of it now?

But they’re not serious enough for him to stop and, when he hears the click of the bathroom door, Neymar bows his head, fisting the bedsheets hard, powerful arousal making him shudder.

The air feels cool around his heated lower half and he can almost see the gasp that comes out of Leo’s mouth. He hears something fall to the ground and idly wonders what it is. He wonders what this looks like: Neymar half naked and presenting his ass to Leo to fuck.

Briefly, Neymar worries if Leo knows that he’s offering himself. What if he thinks that Neymar’s just practicing some pre-game ritual?

He almost opens his mouth to say something, but at that exact moment, Leo says his name. His voice is hoarse, raspy, low, scratching his throat.

And, later it will embarrass him forever, but Neymar’s asshole clenches. Knowing it is happening, knowing Leo is seeing it, Neymar moans, dropping his face down into the bedsheets, completely embarrassed but also overwhelmed with arousal. He wants Leo so much, wants him so, _so_ much.

He’s so overcome with embarrassment, he almost misses Leo’s footsteps drawing nearer. For a tense, terrible moment, he wonders if Leo will bark at him, but then Leo breathes his name in wondering tones.

Unable to help himself, despite the agony of his position, Neymar turns his head around and meets Leo’s eyes. Ney will forever remember the expression on his face: pure, unadulterated lust.

And out of Ney’s mouth, the word comes involuntarily: _please_.

It’s all Leo needs. He immediately darts to his bag and comes back with lube. Neymar makes a mental note of it—why did Leo bring lube?—but he’s shaking with arousal and he can’t get his mind to focus. He’s also really, really scared. He’s never done this—how much does it hurt?

It says something that he’s willing to suffer pain for Leo—because Neymar has a low threshold for pain. So he bows his head and closes his eyes and listens to Leo’s movements, listens to him unscrewing the top of the lube, listens to him dip his fingers, wetting them.

The sounds are better than dirty talk—the echoing silence of the room further amplifying them until Ney’s mind is filled with sound and sensation and Leo.

When Leo’s finger brushes his entrance, Ney moves back, his hands stretching in front of him, fisting the sheets hard, eyes still closed. It feels strange and almost too tight, but Neymar starts leaking and knows he won’t stop Leo, not now.

After that, things start to drift into each other, hazy sensations combining with the heat pouring off his skin. He starts dripping sweat and he can feel it dropping off his nose. Leo’s fingers are clever, moving in and out, crooking and touching _something_ —something that makes Neymar hitch his breath and arch and freeze.

It’s the first time that Leo’s taken care of Neymar’s pleasure and Ney revels in it. His nerves feel like they’re on fire, his whole body one long tense line as Leo adds more and more fingers. He doesn’t make a sound and somehow that’s more erotic than moaning—because all he can hear is Leo’s fingers, their breaths shallowing out and growing more erratic.

Leo’s warm hand slides up his spine, up and up until he cups Neymar’s shoulder. He presses himself against Ney, still in his boxers and soft T-shirt. Ney is so sensitive that even the feeling of the cloth against his skin is almost too much and he leans down, huffing out a breath and then biting on his lip, eyes screwed up in sensation.

Leo doesn’t ask. He just kisses the side of Neymar’s neck and Ney turns a little, looking at Leo over his shoulder. He is so close that Ney can see every single thing on his face and he’s dripping sweat too, his hair damp. But the heat makes him smell heavenly—of soap and shampoo.

And with Neymar maintaining eye contact, Leo pulls back, removes his fingers. He slides his T-shirt off, then pushes his shorts down. They get caught around his knees so he stands up and kicks them off. He breaks eye contact then and Neymar turns away, mentally focusing on the images of Leo utterly naked in front of him.

Naked and aroused—for _Neymar_.

If Neymar wasn’t already about to combust, that one tidbit of information would take him there. He almost gasps with it, so needy and so desperate to come that he feels like he might die if Leo doesn’t fuck him right there and then.

Leo gets back on the bed and Ney tenses involuntarily. He wants this, but he’s also scared. He expects it to hurt, but when Leo starts to enter him, he’s taken aback by how much it hurts. He grits his teeth, arousal deflating. It doesn’t feel worth it and he’s being wrenched from a world of sensation to cold, hard reality until Leo leans over, kissing Neymar’s scapula.

Ney shudders, his body immediately covered in goosebumps. He closes his eyes and focuses on Leo’s lips feathering slowly over his upper back, wet and soft. Leo isn’t moving, just kissing Neymar, as if he has the whole night to just sample his skin.

And Neymar realizes he does.

The knowledge makes him dizzy. His dick gets hard again, bouncing against his taut brown belly, almost painful. Maybe Leo reads his emotions because he starts to move—in such slow infinite degrees that it feels more like pressure and less like pain.

The pain keeps slipping away, bit by bit, replaced by this new pressure and the soft sounds of their bodies together, in sync and fluid. The heat is there again, burning them, and Leo’s hot breath against his ear is almost uncomfortable but it’s the right amount of discomfort. And just when Ney thinks he’s got this, Leo touches that _something_ again.

Neymar doesn’t know what to call it, but he simply collapses. Everything bows—his spine, his neck. He simply seems to melt, his forehead pressing against the sheet, his mind numb, overwhelmed with feeling and pleasure.

Leo doesn’t let up, keeps brushing against that something until Neymar’s not so much breathing as panting. They both are. Their skin is so sweaty that they’re slipping against each other, wet palms sliding on naked skin, lips nipping against Neymar’s neck.

They don’t make any sound until the very end, until the world is fluid and sensate, until Neymar can’t see or hear, just feel. And, right at the end, he makes a low moan and whispers Leo’s name.

After that, things go black.

When he comes to, his muscles are like jelly, he’s lying on his side, one knee drawn up. And Leo’s wiping him, cleaning him up. Neymar feels gross down there and slightly sticky. He desperately needs a shower and the embarrassment is overwhelming.

He makes to close his legs and Leo seems to realise he’s awake. For one panicked moment, Neymar almost doesn’t want to see Leo’s closed-off expression, almost wants to run. But Leo’s face is serene, if a little tired.

Neymar sits up, babbling about a shower, but Leo’s hand presses on his chest. Ney goes back down willingly, his mind racing. And when Leo turns him, puts his arm around him and simply lays there, spooning Neymar, Ney cries a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please let me know what you think! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nothing in this fic has actually been matching up to any game or any real set of events, but this one references the incredible comeback match vs psg where barcelona won 6-1 on march 8th/2017. if you didn't watch it, that's fine, just know that neymar was motm imo and that he was the main reason barcelona won. hopefully that makes sense for the rest of the chapter!

The fourth time Neymar sees Leo’s dick, it is also the second time Leo kisses him.

After they fuck—Neymar doesn’t like that word, not in the same sentence with Leo, but he’s afraid to attach too much meaning to it, afraid to affix a significance to the act that Leo doesn’t possibly feel—things are surprisingly easy between them.

It takes Neymar by surprise, but when he wakes up the next morning alone in his own bed, sticky and shivering, he feels his heart sink. It’s as if he’s rejected again, but not one by one, but all at once—all three rejections like a slam, knocking him flat and out-of-breath.

He lays there for a few minutes, struggling to get air into his lungs, but when he rolls over to his phone, he sees the messages from Leo standing out from the rest—as if someone’s attached bright shiny lights to them.

He opens them clumsily, his fingers suddenly slow and painful. When he reads them, he feels as if something eases in his chest, a sensation of someone cracking an egg inside him and the yolk slowly spreading, slowing covering them in their yellow brilliance, lighting everything bit by bit.

His smile is uncontainable, light and joyous—and he jumps out of bed. It is easy, so easy. Everything is easy.

 

* * *

 

There’s nothing ever special in Leo’s messages, not from the first and certainly not now, almost ten days after the first time they fuck. They are always banal, always slightly boring and off-topic. But Leo messages constantly, always, from morning to night. And maybe it’s enough.

Neymar thinks about what that means: _enough_. Wonders if it’s okay to have someone’s platonic messages be an adequate substitute to—that other thing. Because Neymar still can’t name it, not even now, not even in the dead of night when he allows himself to cry.

He finds he is okay with the nameless and wonders when his _enough_ s became so achievable, when the bar dropped so low.

 

* * *

 

The game is breathless.

22 days after they fuck, Neymar plays the match of his lifetime. He achieves the impossible, scores two goals and assists the third in 7 magical minutes. And, suddenly, he is flying.

He was dancing the whole 94 minutes and 30 seconds, but when he sees Leo standing up on the railing in front of the fans, screaming, his fist thumping his chest, Neymar thinks about the nameless.

And when Leo finds him, when he runs into his arms, when he jumps into Neymar, his face blazing and hard in pride and joy, Neymar holds him and names the nameless.

 _Love_.

 

* * *

 

The celebration in the locker room is a blur, the joy burning so bright that it becomes almost feverish—almost if they are chasing something, afraid of losing this bright spot, this spot they’ve lost in the last two years, since their famous second treble.

Neymar feels as if he’s on fire, ablaze with emotion and pride. He doesn’t know what he says to anyone, doesn’t avoid Leo, but doesn’t seek him out either. Somehow, he knows Leo will come. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he feels it like a truth.

Because Neymar is irresistible tonight. He knows it. He knows it the whole night, even as Leo gracefully hands him the reins, allow Neymar to run the show. Today, the victory belongs to them all, but mostly, it belongs to Neymar.

Today is Neymar’s.

So he waits for Leo to find him.

And when Leo’s eyes catch his suddenly, Neymar knows this is it. For the first time, he’s calm. There’s no fear tonight—so he holds Leo’s eyes, doesn’t smile, lets Leo know he is his for the taking, if Leo wants.

And, of course, Leo wants. Neymar feels his veins thrumming with Leo’s desire, his pupils so dilated with need, with _Neymar_ , that Ney almost feels like laughing. But he can’t.

Instead, he turns on his heel, pulls a towel and goes into the showers. A few minutes later, there is a soft tap on the door.

Neymar opens the door and, only then, only _then_ , does his heart start to pound.

Leo’s jaw is tight, his eyes hard with emotion. He kicks the door behind him, locking it with his fingers. Neymar briefly wonders if anyone saw Leo following him, but tonight, he doesn’t care. So he tips his head back, stepping back under the hot water, letting it sluice over him.

After a minute or so, he drops his chin and looks at Leo. Leo’s watching him, his lips just slightly parted, and then he starts to shed his clothing. Neymar smiles, but doesn’t do anything, just watches.

When Leo is fully naked, he steps forward and Neymar makes room for him, allows him to step under the heated water. Leo’s eyelashes fall at the first touch of the shower on his skin—and suddenly, Neymar’s eyes widen as he takes it in: the wet, flushed skin as Leo breathes, his stomach tight.

Neymar reaches out and presses his palm against Leo’s abdominals. Leo’s eyes fly open, his jaw tight again, and he watches Neymar slowly move his fingers up and down Leo’s stomach. Neymar doesn’t need to look down to know that Leo’s hard.

But Neymar isn’t doing the work tonight. Instead, he smiles and turns around, backing gently into the shower, gently into Leo, until he bumps up against Leo’s front.

He senses more than hears Leo’s soft growl in his ear, drowned by the roaring water, drowned by the sound of the other showers running. Neymar feels like all his senses are thrumming at full throttle, gunning at full power, but still he is still, allowing Leo to run his mouth slowly over Neymar’s neck.

That is the only gentleness left in Leo. After that, he is fire and a whirlwind, a tornado, spinning Neymar around and around. His hands are rough, his teeth nipping, his mouth leaving marks, bruises that mark Neymar—each mark meaning something different.

Ney wonders if Leo knows what’s he saying with his mouth, but maybe it doesn’t matter. Because, as Leo’s hand grasp Neymar’s chin, turning it to face him, as they kiss sloppily over Neymar’s shoulder, as the water cascades around them, hot and steaming, Leo’s arm around Neymar’s stomach is answer enough.

Neymar breaks the kiss and drops his head back against Leo’s shoulder, closing his eyes, wanting more. Leo’s a bit shorter than him so it’s slightly uncomfortable, his neck bending back a little too much, but somehow the discomfort makes this real. Neymar doesn’t want the dreamy, he doesn’t want the nameless, he wants it spelled out, he wants to _feel_ it, he wants it to cap the greatest match he’s ever played—he wants to feel feel feel.

Leo’s fingers are smudges of fire, sweeping roughly over Neymar, pulling his nipples—almost too hard, almost painfully. He sucks too hard at Neymar’s shoulder and then bites it—Neymar actually gasps from the pain because it _hurts_ so good and suddenly the emotion is welling inside him, like a dam bursting open.

Leo pushes him forward, pushes him against the wall. The water is no longer falling on them and Neymar begins to shiver, his flesh covered in goosebumps as he places his palms against the tiles, his forehead pressing against the cold linoleum.

When Neymar feels Leo’s mouth at the base of his spine, he cries out. It is hot, a contrast from his icy skin and the chattering of his teeth. And Neymar can’t wait so he bucks gently backwards, his bottom lightly hitting Leo on the chin.

Leo’s fingers are so tight on Neymar’s hips, so anchoring, holding Neymar there as if he’s flight risk. When Leo’s fingers start dipping inside him, Neymar’s eyes fly open because he didn’t even _think_ of lube, how did he not _notice_ that Leo had lube with him, but it is always like that with Leo—he is always the centre and everything else nothing.

Leo doesn’t prepare him much, doesn’t seem to care much. Neymar almost protests but that’s when the filth begins. That’s when Leo opens his mouth and starts to talk—and Neymar’s jaw drops, in shock, in desire, in _want_.

Leo’s words are explicit, cheap, calling Neymar a _whore_ , a _slut_ —and Neymar is moaning because he wonders if Leo can hear his own nameless words too. Neymar doesn’t know if he’s hallucinating, if he’s imagining them, but every _whore_ and every _slut_  evokes the _other_ , the unsaid, the nameless, and Ney finds himself curling his fists into the wall as he gasps, as saliva slips from his open mouth onto the floor.

Leo’s first thrust is slow and painful and Neymar clenches in fear. Leo’s hand curls around the back of Neymar’s neck and he squeezes. Somehow, the hand calms him down, the act of squeezing making Neymar relax, as if Leo’s holding him now, as if Leo’s keeping him together.

Leo fucks him slowly, but it feels like an assault. Like Leo’s hammering at something, as if Neymar, whose dams were flimsy to begin with, is the enemy. Neymar can feel himself caving, coming closer to closer naming the nameless, not just in the privacy of his heart, but out loud.  

It becomes a battle and suddenly it becomes very important to Neymar that he doesn’t come first, not today. He has to win—he has already won everything tonight and he has to _win_ this, this unsaid battle, this last feeble shield he has against Leo.

Leo hits the prostate on every thrust, as if he won’t let Neymar escape, as if he’s determined too. His fingers are hard around Neymar’s cock, milking him. Neymar feels his knees began to buckle at that first touch—and Leo stops immediately.

He slips out of Neymar, breathing harshly in Ney’s ear, and turns him around. The first shock of meeting Leo’s eyes, so dark and dilated, makes his breath whoosh out of him. For a second, neither of them move, just panting, their eyes hard on each other, their mouths a hot millimeter apart.

Then Leo moves, slowly, and fits his mouth against Neymar in slow degrees—so Neymar can feel every part of Leo’s lips gently touching him, bit by bit by bit. And then Leo’s hand makes its way into his curls and then pulls and Neymar gasps, arching into Leo. And that’s all it takes—the kiss becomes open-mouthed, wet, tongues and teeth and moaning.

Leo urges Neymar down, pulling him towards the shower. Neymar only realizes how cold he is when he’s underneath the hot water and he shivers, warming up in slow degrees. Leo sits down, just under the water and for a second Neymar hesitates, but then he sits on Leo’s thighs, almost immediately kissing Leo again.

They kiss for long minutes, hot and passionate until Ney’s head begins to spin—and when Leo takes Neymar’s lower lip in his mouth, Ney makes a soft urgent sound, his hips involuntarily bucking. And that’s when Leo gently coaxes him up a little so that Neymar slowly lowers himself down on Leo’s cock, head thrown back as he begins to ride.

He looks down at Leo as he slowly undulates, as Leo’s eyes watching him, and he feels beautiful even if Leo doesn’t say it. He puts on a show, his fingers playing with his nipples, his sounds louder than it necessarily has to be, his moans just a little more theatrical than he feels, purposely clenching around Leo’s dick with every downward movement.

Leo’s gasping too now, watching Neymar, his eyes riveted and dark and fiery, and Neymar suddenly feels powerful. He almost wants to laugh, but he’s performing and he’s going to _win_. The pleasure is there, of course, Leo’s cock is hitting his prostate with every thrust, but Neymar’s pleasure isn’t important tonight.

Today, he is going to win this _battle_ —he won’t think of the  _other_ , he won't let the words slip from his mouth, not today.

And when Leo comes, bucking up into Neymar, his mouth open and his eyes closed, Ney feels like he’s won again, won the greatest match of his life, feels like a hero.

He kisses Leo triumphantly and Leo lets him, lets Neymar take the credit—and when his fingers close around Neymar’s dick, Neymar allows the pleasure to wash over him.

He comes slowly, his orgasm more of a burgeoning feeling rather than a sudden peak, so that for long minutes, he is simply coming and coming and coming, his whole pulsing and throbbing.

And when it’s finally done, only when it’s all over, only then Neymar wonders if Leo let him win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only one more chapter! hang in there, folks.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i won't even bother to apologise, just go read read read!

The fifth time Neymar sees Leo’s dick, it is all his.

After the locker room fuck, Leo is different. Not in a bad way, but not in a way that Neymar can really understand either. Suddenly, it is Leo’s eyes that follow Neymar around the locker room, it is Leo coming to sit next to him, it is Leo who shifts to move closer, it is Leo whose fingers are always touching Neymar, brushing him.

Neymar doesn’t know what to make of it, but he knows he doesn’t want it to stop. They sit next to each other in the locker room, their little fingers touching as they brace themselves on the bench. Ney leans his shoulder against Messi when they laugh at Geri’s jokes.

And Leo’s eyes, those dark, unfathomable eyes, are always on him. Intense, hot, and so meltingly black that Neymar finds himself heating up, from the chest upwards, his cheeks turning an intense pink. He doesn’t know what Leo wants, or what _he_ wants, but this hurts less than being away from Leo. It hurts less than pretending they’re just friends.

The first time Leo comes over, Neymar is stunned. He does it casually, texting him briefly before dropping in about half an hour later. Neymar spends most of that half hour alternately panicking about his outfit and maniacally cleaning what he can. And he hates himself, but he cleans the bedroom first.

They never get to the bedroom, though. They don’t fuck at all, actually. Leo comes over to play FIFA and beats Neymar easily, crowing as he wins, rubbing it in his face in a way he doesn’t do on the pitch. Neymar huffs, pretends to be offended, but allows Leo to sidle closer to “comfort” him.

Somehow, it’s more exciting _not_ to touch when they’re all alone, when they can actually fuck, kiss, be together fully, completely. The anticipation makes him heady, makes him dizzy. They just talk, flirt, laugh, tease each other outrageously. There are touches, of course, but innocent ones—or at least, touches that are _meant_ to be innocent. Once, Leo reaches over to swipe at Neymar’s lip, rubbing away some dip.

Neymar’s lips throb for fifteen minutes after.

And so when Leo hugs him goodbye, Neymar presses against him, just a little, just a bit teasingly. His eyes, hazel-green, are mischievous when Leo looks startled and a bit breathless. He closes the door with a flourish and thinks about power.

And there is power in this. As Leo keeps coming over, keeps inviting Ney to his house, as they go from playing FIFA to cooking dinner, to watching movies, to starting an endless Game of Thrones binge, Neymar feels more and more powerful.

Because it’s obvious that Leo wants him. It’s dizzyingly good how that feels—dizzyingly good that Leo is… _seducing_ him. Leo’s eyes are all for him; his hands are innocent, but they roam Neymar’s back, his sides, his fingers, his hair too much.

Too much and not enough.

Neymar wants Leo _so_ badly. But he knows something profound: if he gives in, he will lose Leo. He doesn’t know how he knows this, but it is a bone-deep truth. He has to wait. He has to stay away. He has to wait for Leo to give in.

Considering how little discipline he has with Leo’s body, it takes all his effort, all his strength to not give in. Sometimes, his hands drift too high on Leo’s inner thigh, sometimes, he can’t concentrate on anything because he’s so powerfully hard for Leo, so hot for him.

But he somehow manages. He uses bathroom breaks, excuses himself from the room just to breathe, and, yeah, sometimes—he relieves himself. It’s too much because Leo is too much. He makes Ney feel out of control, as if his skin has lit from within, as if he’s burning.

This state of affairs goes on for weeks until Neymar is so close to giving in, he’s almost out of his mind. He’s almost made his mind to jump on Leo the next time they’re alone together when it happens. He doesn’t even really understand it, except, one night, as they’re rewatching a movie together, Ney chuckles at something on his phone.

Leo turns to him. “What?”

Ney grins. “It’s a long story, really. But here, I’ll show you. I’ve got to show you something else first or you won’t get it.”

And that’s when he opens his Photos app. And there, in one brief glance, is hundreds of pictures of Leo, of screenshots of their conversations. Flushing in humiliation, Neymar angles his phone away and opens the relevant picture, the only picture he’d _actually_ meant to show Leo. It really only lasts for a second; maybe Leo doesn’t notice.

But when he finally shows the picture to Leo, there is no reaction. Ney peeks up—and loses his bearing. Because he’s never seen that expression on Leo’s face, not ever. Leo looks fierce, his eyes burning, his jaw so tight, Neymar can see a vein ticking in Leo’s temple.

“L-Leo?”

But he barely gets it out before Leo’s mouth is on his. Leo’s mouth grinds on his, opening Neymar’s mouth by sheer force, his teeth scraping against a cut on Ney’s lip from a bruising tackle in their last match but he almost doesn’t register the throb of pain. He’s just desperate, desperate for more, more of Leo, more of this, just _more more more_. Leo’s hand slips into his hair and pulls sharply. An involuntary hiss of pain escapes Neymar and, finally, Leo gentles.

He cradles Neymar’s face almost reverently, almost as if he’s fragile, his mouth moving slowly over Ney’s. Their tongues are touching, warm and tasting of the coffee cake they’d both just eaten. Leo bites Ney’s lower lip, sucking gently. Neymar makes a soft sound, whether of pleasure, or anticipation of whatever came next, he didn’t quite know.

When Leo sinks onto his knees in front of Neymar on the couch, Ney takes a few minutes to realise what it is Leo’s going to do. Only when he stops kissing Ney to completely focus on his jeans does Neymar get it. He gasps a little, his hips bucking up, both to help Leo in his task of undoing Ney’s jeans but also because a powerful rush of desire throbs through Neymar’s cock, sensation so strong that he can’t help his reaction to it.

Leo is always graceful, always calm, but when Ney looks down, he sees Leo’s fingers shaking and he feels tenderness spreading in his chest. He places his hands on Leo’s, stilling him. When Leo looks up quizzically, Neymar can’t help it. He fists his fingers in Leo’s shirt, pulls him closer. They kiss slowly, mouths moving, parting each other’s lips, touching, nipping, tasting.

Ney breaks the kiss, resting his forehead on Leo’s. “Have you ever done this before?”

“Had you?”

The defensive answer makes Neymar smile ruefully. He kisses Leo again, talking through the kiss, mouths no more than a millimeter apart at any given time. “Are you sure?”

“If you are.”

“I’m always sure about you.”

Leo pulls away at that, staring at Neymar. His eyes are intense, dilated, dark. It makes Neymar swallow at the rawness in Leo’s expression, at the possessiveness. “I want you.”

Neymar knows this, knows Leo wants him, of course he does—why else would Leo be here? But he still feels the words hit his skin, one by one, melting into his bones. “I want you too,” he whispers, his voice so soft he almost can’t be heard.

“You can’t be anyone else’s. You have to be…” Leo trails off, as if he can’t finish the sentence, as if it’s too embarrassing. He’s still kneeling on the plush carpet between Neymar’s thighs and Ney registers that his knees must be hurting by now, but Leo seems utterly comfortable. In fact, he’s powerful. Even in this humbling position, he is like a lion, controlling everything, raw domination steaming off him in waves.

Ney nods. He can’t finish it either. But he needs to know that Leo feels the same way. It can’t be one-sided. “And you… You have to be… It has to be…” He’s speaking through frantic breaths, as if his lungs don’t have enough air, as if he’s being suffocated.

“If you are, I am.” Leo’s voice, so strong normally, is unsure and lilting at the end, as if asking a question. And Neymar realises he has a choice—Leo is asking, he’s not telling. But is there a choice with Leo? Was there ever?

“We are,” Neymar says, his body shaking uncontrollably. He pulls Leo closer, desperate for his touch, unable to take this conversation anymore. But Leo doesn’t budge. Instead he presses a hand on Neymar’s chest, forcing him back until he’s leaning against the back of the couch.

Then he unzips Ney’s jeans, the button already undone from before. He waits, his eyes on Neymar. Ney’s breathing harshly, almost gasping, waiting. Then Leo slips three freezingly cold fingers inside Neymar’s underwear and Ney actually gasps out loud. “Leo!”

The cold makes things worse, or maybe better, Ney doesn’t quite know. All that he knows is that as Leo’s frozen fingers wrap around Ney’s cock, Neymar is acutely aware of every finger, of every inch of Leo’s palm. Leo simply lingers for a second, Neymar’s cock pulsing and jumping in his grasp.

Then he smiles, almost smirks, and pulls it out of Neymar’s underwear, baring it to the air. After that, everything happens too quickly. Leo’s mouth closes around him, warm and wet and so good and he can barely move up and down before Neymar is making sounds, before Neymar is throwing his head back, before Ney’s fingers slip into Leo’s soft dark hair, before Neymar is coming and coming and _coming_.

Neymar doesn’t know if he blacks out or just enters into another plane of existence because later he can’t remember what exactly happened after he came. All he knows is that he’s in Leo’s bed, that they are both nude, that Leo is next to him, his mouth nuzzling into Neymar’s neck, waiting.

Ney stirs and meets Leo’s gaze. “That almost killed me.”

Leo’s eyes are slightly worried. “I did wonder. You were out for a little while there.”

Neymar threads his fingers through Leo’s, their bodies warm and slightly sweaty. “Will you fuck me?”

Leo’s eyes go black again and he kisses Neymar ravenously, his mouth pressing hard against Ney’s lips. Then he moves back, rolls onto his back, looking at Neymar expectantly.

Neymar hesitates then slowly gets to his knees, swinging one thigh over Leo, sitting himself comfortably on Leo’s pale ones, right under his dick. Leo’s dick is hard and leaking just a little. Neymar can’t help himself, he slides a hand up and down Leo’s warm length, enjoying the way Leo hisses in pleasure, bucking slightly in Neymar’s grasp.

“Mine,” Ney says, raising his head. For some reason, it’s less embarrassing now, less embarrassing when they’re both naked and vulnerable.

“Yours,” Leo grits out, his hands coming up to rest on Neymar’s hips, digging painfully into his sides.

Neymar slows his movements, dragging Leo’s soft velvety skin up and down so slowly that Leo takes his lower lip between his teeth, watching Neymar. “Yours.”

Leo understands. “Mine,” he rasps, barely getting it out as he takes ragged breath after ragged breath.

Neymar bends forwards, releasing Leo’s long, pale cock, wanting to kiss Leo. Their mouths brush softly, gently, warmly, as if they have all the time in the world, as if their cocks are not jumping and pulsing between them.

Ney had loved riding Leo in the shower, but today he wants Leo on top of him. So he breaks the kiss and goes back to lie down next to Leo. “Like this,” he says, tugging on Leo’s arm.

Leo nods, sitting up, leaning over to his bedside table, rummaging in the drawers for the lube and condoms. When he’s finished putting one on, he turns to Ney and gasps a little. Neymar is ready for Leo, his thighs drawn up to his chest, exposed for Leo to take him.

Leo moans, almost unconsciously, and moves quickly to brace himself at the end of their bed. Ney lays there, feeling wanton and open and _Leo’s_ as Leo looks him over. Leo’s finger slips inside wetly, greasing him, lewd and dirty and _oh_ so good.

Neymar hasn’t been fucked in a while so it takes time, but he says nothing, just makes soft sounds, whispers Leo’s name, writhes on the bed. Leo adds a finger at a time, his fingers warm and thick and slightly painful. He tickles Neymar’s prostate by accident once and Ney makes soft needy sounds so Leo withdraws his hands immediately and Neymar makes a reproachful sound.

Leo smirks at that, but positions himself at Neymar’s entrance, his dick just pressing against Neymar’s open contracting anus, as Ney drapes his thighs on Leo’s shoulders. Then Leo pushes in, bit by bit by bit. Ney’s mouth opens widely, his eyes rolling back to the ceiling, as he absorbs the sensation.

Leo’s cock is so big and so good and _fuck fuck fuck_. He begins to mumble as Leo fills him, as he presses deeper and deeper, until Leo is fully in. He only realises that he’s sobbing as the sensation of having Leo inside him again overwhelms him.

Leo goes out again, so slowly that it is almost torture, and tries a different angle on his way in again. He does this a few times until he finds Neymar’s prostate and then only hits that spot over and over. Neymar is openly drooling in pleasure, sobbing, moaning and groaning and crying out, saying Leo’s name like a chant.

Even Leo, who doesn’t talk much, is moaning at the feel of Neymar around his cock, squeezing and hot and tight. He pushes Neymar’s thighs off his shoulders and leans down, lying fully on top of Neymar. They kiss like that, wetly, Leo sucking on Neymar’s lower lip as he continuously moves in and out of him.

Neymar’s orgasm starts as a long slow wave. He comes and comes and comes. It is longer and sweeter than the previous time, making his toes curl, as he moans Leo’s name, eyes closing in pleasure.

“Look at me,” Leo grits out, his fingers pulling at Neymar’s hair.

Neymar does it, still coming, still sobbing in pleasure. “Leo, Leo, so good, fuck, fuck me, fuck me,” he whispers.

“Mine.”

“Mine,” Ney repeats, and then Leo’s mouth crashes on him as he comes inside Neymar.

It takes Neymar 5 times for Leo’s dick to become his, but after that, it is his. Forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S OVER!!!!!! no i didn't do a happy jig as i posted this, OF COURSE NOT. (i'm freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee). ahem. anyway, thank you all for reading and for your patience!!! i hope you enjoyed the ride and how much are you guys cringing at the corniest last line in the history of last lines eh? now i can focus on my other neymessi so yaaaay! toodles <3

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think! :)


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